The Vanishing Viscountess. Diane Gaston
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like the devil. There was nothing to do so we drank great quantities of brandy and grew beards.”
She giggled. “I wonder you had the energy for it.”
“We wagered to see who could grow the longest beard in two weeks.” He smiled. “I won it.”
“Who was charged with measuring?”
“Our poor valets.” He laughed. “We made them switch.” He twirled his finger for emphasis. “Pomroy’s valet measured my beard and my valet measured Pomroy’s. It made the two men very nervous.”
He scraped at his cheek some more until his face was nearly clean of soap, except for tiny lines here and there. He rinsed off with the clean water and dried his face.
He presented himself to her. “How did I do?”
To his surprise, she reached up to stroke his face. “You did well,” she murmured.
The part of him that had retreated during his bath retreated no more. He leaned closer to her, so close he saw the lines of light and dark blue in her eyes. Her hand stilled, but her fingers still touched his cheek.
He wanted to breathe her name into the decreasing space between them, if only he knew it.
There was a loud knock on the door.
“Deuce,” he murmured instead.
He walked to the door. “Who is it?”
“It is Mrs Gwynne, lamb. If you are finished with your bathing, we’ve come to fetch the tub.”
He glanced over to Miss Brown. She nodded.
“You may fetch the tub.” He opened the door.
Removing the bath was almost as laborious as filling it had been. The maids had to make several trips. The towels were gathered up for laundering and, when all this was accomplished, Mr Gwynne appeared to carry the copper tub out of the room. Mrs Gwynne remained the whole time, chatting in her friendly way, pleased, Tanner suspected, that she had made her guests so happy.
“Now,” the innkeeper’s wife went on. “If you would care to come to the taproom, we have a nice supper. We also could give you a private parlour for dining. Or, if you prefer, we’ll bring the food to you here.”
“It shall be as my wife desires.” He turned to Miss Brown.
As his wife desires, Marlena repeated to herself, her heart pounding at the way his voice dipped low when he spoke the word wife. He spoke the word softly, intimately, as if he had indeed kissed her as he had been about to do. Her whole body tingled with excitement.
“I should like to stay here,” Marlena responded.
She did not want to break this spell, this camaraderie between them, this atmosphere that had almost led to a kiss.
“We are commanded, Mrs Gwynne.” Tanner smiled at the woman.
Marlena enjoyed Tanner’s teasing manner. She and Eliza had not known of his good humour all those years ago, something that would undoubtedly have given them more to sigh over. Now his light-heartedness made her forget she was running for her life.
Mrs Gwynne said, “We shall be back directly.”
After she left, Marlena asked, “Did you truly agree, Tanner? With having supper here in the room?”
He walked back to her, and lowered himself in the chair adjacent to the one she had been sitting in. He winced as he stretched out his long legs. “I wanted to do what you wanted.”
She did not miss that his sides still pained him.
“It is just that my hair is not yet dry,” she rattled on. “And I do not wish to put it up yet.” And also that she liked being alone with him in this temporary haven.
“You do not have to convince me. Your desire of it is sufficient.” His eyes rested softly upon her.
Her desires had never been sufficient for her husband to do what she asked. Early in her marriage she’d learned that Corland’s desires took precedence and that she must do what he wanted or he would be in a foul mood. Later in their three-year marriage, she had not cared enough to attempt to please him.
It occurred to her that she had been on the run for as long as she had been married. In a way, Corland still directed her life. It was a mystery to her why Wexin had killed Corland, but because of it, she was on the run.
Marlena fiddled with the brush in her hands, disliking the intrusion of Corland and Wexin in her time with Tanner.
How would it have felt if Tanner had, indeed, kissed her?
It had been so long since a man had kissed her. Corland’s ardour for her, mild at best, had cooled after the first year of their marriage, after her money had dwindled and his debts increased. After she discovered his many peccadilloes. Actresses, ballet dancers, their housemaid.
Her last sight of her husband flashed into her mind, lying face up on the bed, eyes gaping sightlessly, naked body covered in blood.
She shuddered and glanced at Tanner, so gloriously alive, so masculine even as he slouched in his chair.
His expression had sobered. “What is it?”
She blinked. “I do not understand what you mean.”
He gestured towards her. “You were thinking of something. Something disturbing, I’d wager.”
She averted her gaze. “Nothing, I assure you.”
When she glanced back at him, he frowned, and the peaceful, intimate feelings she’d had a moment before fled.
All she need do was think of Corland and clouds thickened.
There had been a time when she blamed all her woes on her husband. He was to blame for many things—his gambling, his debts, his affairs—but he would never have done to her what her own cousin had done. Who could have guessed Wexin was capable of such treachery?
Was Wexin still among Tanner’s friends? she wondered. If she had so difficult a time believing what her cousin had done, surely Tanner would not believe it.
“Do not be angry with me, Tanner,” she murmured.
His brows rose in surprise. “I am not angry.” He gave her a very intent look. “I merely wish you would tell me what cloud came over you. Tell me your secrets. Trust me. I know I will be able to fix whatever is wrong.”
She shook her head.
“Then at least tell me your name,” he persisted, putting that teasing tone back into his voice, but still looking at her with serious eyes. “Tell me your given name. I gave you mine. Adam. When we are private together, let me address you with one name that belongs to you.”
She stared back at him.
Would he know the Vanishing Viscountess by her given name? Would her name be enough to identify her as Wexin’s cousin, Corland’s widow, the young girl who’d had such a tendre for him at age eighteen that she blushed whenever he walked past her?
Marlena had been named for a distant French relative who’d died on the guillotine in the year of her birth. She had been Miss Parronley to everyone, save childhood friends and family and Eliza. And Wexin, of course. Even the newspapers after Corland’s death and her flight had never printed her given name. She could not think of a single instance when Tanner would have heard of the name Marlena and, if he had, would never associate it with the Vanishing Viscountess. She opened her mouth to speak.
Tanner stood, blowing out a frustrated breath. “Never mind.” He ambled over to the window. “Forgive me for pressing you.”
The moment to tell him had passed. Her body relaxed, but she grieved the loss of the easy banter between them.
“I asked Mr Gwynne about coaches,” he said, still looking out of the window. “I told him we were travelling